


Contributive, resourceful, adorable

by wtfkovah



Series: Sweater Vest Stories [3]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Boss/Employee Relationship, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: Jihoon makes lists and traybakes and tea and Seungcheol has a nap.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: Sweater Vest Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1736101
Comments: 35
Kudos: 278





	Contributive, resourceful, adorable

Seungcheol suspects something is up when Jisoo's name pops up on his private cell, an incoming call instead of a text. Jisoo's one for texting if he uses a cell phone at all—and he hardly ever contacts him outside of work unless they’ve missed each other during the day. So however inconvenient the timing is, this call _must_ be important.

“This is probably none of my business—” Jisoo says the second he answers.

“You’re probably right.” Seungcheol tells him.

“—But as the head of the HR department, I feel like it is my duty to remind you that there is a strict no-fraternisation policy that your own father put into place when he built the company up from the ground, and as tempting as things may be, violating said policy would have consequences even for someone as high up as yourself.”

Seungcheol actually pauses midway through shrugging off his jacket, brow crinkling in mild trepidation, and asks, “Do you know something I don’t?”

A pause stretches across the line, long and silent, and when Jisoo speaks again it’s with a forced sort of lightness.

“I’m referring to your very new, very _young_ personal assistant.” 

The furrow in Seungcheol’s brow deepens.

“ _Jihoon_? What about him?” He hopes his confusion carries through the phone, because he suddenly has no idea where this conversation is going.

“Seungcheol—” Jisoo’s voice is dry with fond exasperation, like they're sharing a joke but it's not as funny as Seungcheol thinks. “Are you really gonna play dumb with me?”

It sounds like this conversation is going to take more than thirty seconds, so Seungcheol steps over to the liquor cabinet, pours himself two fingers of whiskey, and kicks back on the couch before answering, “If you got something to say Jisoo, come out and say it because I really don’t have the time, _or_ the inclination to read your fucking mind.”

There is a prolonged considered silence on the other end, charged and strained and ignited with tension; dense.

Then: “I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Jisoo says with an air of strained, deliberate calm.

Seungcheol cringes because— _shit_ —he really should have seen this coming.

Of course, Jisoo was going to pick up on his weird behaviour around Jihoon, and of course, he was going to call him out on it eventually.

The fact that’s he’s calling him here, at home, on his private cell, is enough to say that he’s worried but not to the extent where he feels Seungcheol’s professionalism has been compromised. In hindsight, it’s what a good friend would do and Seungcheol appreciates the discretion, though he doesn’t have the foggiest idea what to say about the whole thing.

His brain hurts when he tries to wrap his head around everything that's happened in the past week, and Jihoon defies his every attempt at comprehension. But he can’t deny that his petite PA has ignited a little warming flame at his centre, and that it’s a lost cause for him, trying to pretend he doesn’t _feel_ the way he feels about Jihoon.

“You wanna fuck him, don’t you.” Jisoo says at last, after Seungcheol fails to respond for several long seconds.

Seungcheol's brain stutters out, right on the edge of comprehension, catching up fast but not fast enough because now the conversation has nosedived into unexpected territory. Territory that has him spilling half his bloody drink in shock.

“ _What_? No—no. I don’t— _what_? That’s not what’s—”

“Don’t lie Seungcheol.” Jisoo interjects matter-of-factly. “You were practically salivating over him in the board meeting today. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him throughout the entire presentation.”

It still takes Seungcheol’s brain a moment to match pace with what Jisoo is saying, and he scrambles for a response that won't sound ridiculous or blatantly untrue.

Yes, he _was_ staring—but not in the way Jisoo obviously _thinks_.

“That is not what is happening, okay. It’s not like that at all.”

“Oh? What is it then?” Jisoo asks, his voice carefully neutral.

For a moment, Seungcheol closes his eyes and focuses on letting his breath out smoothly. Then he sucks in a deep breath and says in a rush, “I just really want to pinch his cheeks!”

Jisoo’s sharply drawn in breath suggests that was perhaps the wrong way of putting it.

There’s definitely too much open for interpretation there.

“His facial cheeks!” Seungcheol clarifies immediately.

Jisoo’s gasp of surprise is somehow even worse this time. “What!”

“God—this is so embarrassing.” Seungcheol mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair with a tired sigh. 

Talking about his ridiculous mushy feelings is giving him digestive problems. Frankly, he would rather shit in his hands and clap than share this information out loud, but the alternative—for Jisoo to keep misinterpreting the situation to this degree—is a lot more damaging for everyone involved. 

“Look—I don’t know what you _thought_ you saw, but the reason I couldn't stop staring during the meeting was because Jihoon had this little curl of hair poking out of the top of his head, and it kind of looked like a question mark. Coupled with the fact that he had absolutely no fucking idea what anyone at that meeting was talking about, he just looked so adorably confused sitting there. And…and I had this crazy urge to _pet_ him, because, you know—I think he’s really…very… _cute_.”

There’s complete silence from the other end of the line.

Incriminating silence.

 _Damning_ silence.

It goes on for so long Seungcheol’s pretty sure Jisoo has gone into cardiac arrest and is compelled to call out, “Jisoo—You still there?”

He can’t tell if Jisoo is laughing or not when he finally says, “Sorry, I was just checking to make sure I had the right number. Because when I called, I thought I would be speaking to Choi Seungcheol, CEO and notorious hard-ass, not a sixteen-year-old _girl_.”

Seungcheol bristles. “What? You don’t think Jihoon’s adorable?”

Jisoo snorts loudly. Seungcheol can practically _hear_ his eyeroll across the phone. “I haven’t formed an opinion on Jihoon besides _young_ and _unexperienced_. But adorable? _Really_?” A pause, a wry snort of laughter. “That’s not even a word I was aware you _had_ in your vocabulary.”

Seungcheol winces, embarrassed beyond measure.

“I know, I know—neither did I if I’m being honest.” He murmurs, plucking at stray thread of a cushion cover. “But it’s the perfect descriptor, _adorable_ , I think it _must_ have been invented to describe him.”

Jisoo breathes a startled bark of laughter. “Oh my god. Who _are_ you?”

“I ask myself that same question every time I interact with him,” Seungcheol says, slouching back in his chair. He settles the phone more comfortable against his ear and adds, “He’s just so cute, and sweet and innocent, I just wanna—”

_Squeeze the life out of him in a bone crushing hug._

“So _that’s_ why you hired him, because you thought he was _adorable_.” Jisoo says with an air of revelation.

And it sounds nuts when he says it that way, in a way that sets Seungcheol’s teeth on edge.

“I won’t deny that, yes, that was the original reason—” Seungcheol interrupts hurriedly, “But _since_ then he’s proven himself to be quite useful. He’s efficient, and hardworking and—and I’d be completely justified in keeping him-”

“Don’t worry Seungcheol, I’m not going to object to you keeping _your_ precious little PA _.”_ Jisoo says, quietly steamrolling whatever stilted excuses Seungcheol was trying to make.

Laughing with relief and a mix of other feelings he doesn’t care to untangle, Seungcheol scrubs at his face with one hand.

He’s relieved Jisoo isn’t going to press the issue, because he can’t imagine a single scenario where he’d fire Jihoon. Jihoon’s dimples are a palpable force, for one thing, and Seungcheol's not quite ready to let Jihoon wander out of his life, for another. His little peanut is precisely the sort of good-natured person you can’t help but adopt, take under your wing— _bestow a hundred tiny kisses on their precious little face…._

“I’m guess I’m just surprised he’s affecting you so much.” Jisoo interrupts, as if he’s been reading Seungcheol’s mind and every ridiculous thought in it. “I mean—what _is_ it about him that makes him so cute to you?”

After a brief, affronted silence, Seungcheol says, "You haven’t spent much time around him, have you?"

Jisoo sighs long sufferingly, "I met him twice. During his induction and then when I stopped by your office. He offered me cookies, which makes him nice, but not cute _or_ adorable.”

Seungcheol can’t believe he’s going to have to sit here and build a case for Jihoon’s adorableness over the phone. He prays, briefly, for strength, and a steady voice. 

“The other day, I saw him talking with the janitor and I was wondering what the _hell_ they were talking about. But when I got closer, I saw that the janitor had cut his finger open on something, and he had this crappy gauze tape around it to stop the bleeding. Jihoon obviously didn’t think that was good enough, because he had gone out and bought him a box of plasters and was helping him put one on, and I mean—who _does_ that?” He remarks through gritted teeth. A pause, but then a more genuine softness as he adds. “Nobody should be allowed to be that fucking precious.”

Jisoo’s silent for a moment and it makes Seungcheol twitch, because if Jisoo doesn't mercilessly tease him for what he just said, it's only because he's brewing something even more damning.

Seungcheol grimly settles in and waits for it—except Jisoo’s only response is to chuckle and say, “I guess that _is_ pretty cute. And I suppose the corporate world is pretty cut-throat at best, so it’s not surprising you’d be endeared to someone with such a positive outlook.”

Seungcheol laughs ruefully and shakes his head again. “I don’t need you to agree with me here Jisoo, I know this is crazy. I just—I can’t help how I feel, but I promise it’s not affecting my responsibilities. Jihoon’s just a nice… _distraction_.”

A long time passes before there are any more words. Long enough for Seungcheol to finish what’s left of his drink and start perusing a take-out menu. He’s a shit cook and it’s too late to try anyway.

It's Jisoo who finally breaks the silence, a dry humour in his voice that sounds only the slightest bit forced.

“So, I don’t need to worry about you bending your PA over your desk or anything?”

Seungcheol meets the serious edge of his question, falling sombre as he says, “Ignoring the fact that it would be completely inappropriate from a professional standpoint, he’s also seventeen years younger than me. Apart from the occasional and weird desire to pinch his cheeks and _maybe_ boop him on the nose, I assure you, it’s completely platonic.”

* * *

Jihoon's never had trouble following orders, and there's a quality to Seungcheol and his majestic bearing that makes it doubly easy to do what he says. But as the first week winds down, Jihoon is beginning to realise that working for Seungcheol is probably going to be the hardest job he will ever have. And it’s not because of the workload.

The workload has been, in fact, surprisingly manageable; Jihoon has the sort of obsession with detail Seungcheol appreciates, and the instructions Seungcheol gives him in turn are perfectly clear, so except for a few blips one would expect from their first week on the job, most of his errands are pretty straightforward. 

The difficulty comes from Seungcheol himself, because his boss is like one giant walking _mood swing._

Some days he’s absolutely insufferable to be around. That's the only real word for it—and sometimes even _that's_ too gentle a word for it.

He’ll begin the day extremely tight-lipped, tending towards stoic; rarely speaking if he doesn't absolutely have to and then snapping at the smallest of inconveniences. Nothing Jihoon does will be good enough, from the way he makes his coffee in the morning to how quickly he replies to his ridiculous emails. Any fuck ups when he’s in this mood will also face the full force of his disappointment, and anyone who spends more than twenty minutes in his company leaves looking like they just found out that their cat died.

At those times he’s a complete _ass_ , and Jihoon would very much like to dump hot coffee in his lap.

And then there are days where his softer side comes into play, and suddenly he’s a completely different person to be around.

He’s pleasant— _sweet_ even; speaking and laughing openly like he hasn’t a care in the world. He’ll begin the day with a _‘Good morning Peanut’_ that leaves Jihoon blushing like an idiot, or he’ll compliment his sweater vest which has Jihoon puffing out his chest even as he tries to seem indifferent to the praise. There’s no ‘good job’ or ‘great work’ comments, but when Jihoon does something right—Seungcheol will smile at him like he’s just made his _day_.

Even his _eyes_ take on a language of their own, especially when they slide towards Jihoon as Jihoon works and they’re soft and warm and unguarded.

Jihoon doesn't know yet the best way to extract Seungcheol’s pleasant mood from its prickly shell for good, but he _will_ find out. Eventually.

Yeah, he might look small and unassuming in his little sweater vests, but Jihoon has a contrarian streak a mile wide and is the most determined person he knows and he once even talked a cat down from a tree without calling the fire-brigade.

So as the second week rolls in, Jihoon keeps his eyes open, pays very close attention to his boss’ likes and dislikes and works his little ass off.

If _anybody_ can crack this stubborn nut, it’s going to be him.

* * *

“You could open your own shop now!” The man at the _Tea Cup House_ told Jihoon as he was wrapping up his order, and he wasn’t wrong.

All in all, Jihoon walked out of the shop with ten different varieties of tea and almost as many high-quality grounds of coffee, so to say Seungcheol’s office kitchen was ‘well stocked’ would be a _bit_ of an understatement.

Jihoon’s even bought a handy little automatic coffee grinder to grind the beans, and a French Press so Seungcheol can have the freshest coffee going whenever he wants. In doing so, he’s managed to save time _and_ reduce the company expenditure by avoiding the endless trips to Starbucks, and the coffee is still so damn good Seungcheol has yet to come up with a solid rebuttal.

He’s hoping the tea will be met with a similar response, because even though Seungcheol’s not much of a tea drinker, the ten different varieties of dessert tea Jihoon’s stocked up on are really amazing and it would be a shame for Seungcheol to miss out because he’s a fussy crabby pants.

But when Jihoon clears some space on Seungcheol’s desk to set the tray down and Seungcheol catches sight of the tea-pot, he’s quick to raise a protesting hand.

“Oh, no, no— _no_. I don’t like that crap they stock in the canteen.”

“I didn’t get this from the canteen, I made it fresh in your kitchen.” Jihoon explains, setting the tray down carefully. At Seungcheol's sceptical look, he adds, “It’s really nice, trust me. Just _try_ it.”

Seungcheol holds his gaze, stubborn to a fault. “I don’t like that crap either _. I don’t drink tea.”_

Jihoon swallows around a lump he hardly realized had formed in his throat. It's pointless to even give Seungcheol a wounded look, so he gives it to the tea-pot instead.

“But it’s not the stuff that was in the dispensers, this is a really cool speciality flavour I stocked up on just for you.”

Seungcheol frowns up at him, then his iron will seems to dislodge a bit, and he sighs, “ _Fine_.”

 _Yay_!—Jihoon does not say out loud, because when it comes to Seungcheol, he knows better than to celebrate his little victories too early.

Taking a moment, he checks the tea has been steeped for the required amount of time, then places the small silver strainer over the cup, picks up the tiny tea-pot and pours in the tea. Steam trails up from the lip of the cup, a soft cloud of sweet peppermint, liquorice and an earthy cocoa chasing at its heels.

Seungcheol doesn't look convinced about the light green colour, but he doesn't protest either as he leans forward to take a sniff.

“It smells… _minty_.” He says, sounding quietly disgruntled.

“It’s called peppermint crisp—it’s a _dessert tea._ ” Jihoon chirps.

Seungcheol glances up at him and smiles a little, “They make dessert in tea form now?”

Jihoon nods, setting the tea-pot aside, “I thought you might enjoy it because you can still get the full taste of a delicious dessert and stick to your diet. If you don’t like that one in particular, I picked up a whole bunch of other types too. There’s Blueberry Cheesecake, and Baked Cinnamon Apple, and Almond Sugar Cookie, which actually tastes like—”

He’s interrupted by Seungcheol’s loud slurp. Then another. And another.

The tea must still be piping hot, but that hasn’t stopped Seungcheol from draining half the cup already, so he _must_ be enjoying it.

Jihoon really wants to ‘ _Yay_!’ in celebration now, but Seungcheol’s expression isn’t exactly giving him the green light. Mentally crossing his fingers, he asks, “What do you think? Do you like it?”

Seungcheol takes another sip, looks at Jihoon, and then quickly looks away, his face settling into sternness once more. 

“It’s tolerable.” He answers loftily.

Jihoon’s heart sinks a little. He sighs, low and unhappy, “Oh, well. We can’t all like dessert teas I guess. I’ll just take this away and get you a coffee inste-”

He doesn't even lay a finger on the cup before Seungcheol catches hold of him, moving so fast Jihoon doesn't realize he's reaching until Seungcheol's hand closes around his wrist.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything, but his furrowed eyebrows and strong, unrelenting grip plainly say ‘DON’T TAKE AWAY MY TEA!’, and Jihoon retracts his hand without thought or protest.

“ _Or_ —I can just leave it here.” He says, answering Seungcheol's silent death stare.

Seungcheol seems to realize, belatedly, that he is gripping Jihoon’s wrist like The Terminator and quickly lets go.

He won't meet Jihoon’s eyes, concentrating instead on wiping imaginary dust or something off his desk for a minute, before pointedly clearing his throat and reaching for his tea again, “Yes, well—You made the tea and it’s here now, and it would be a waste not to finish it.”

Jihoon resists, with great difficulty, the urge to roll his eyes, because he had pretty much expected things to go this way.

Honestly—he doesn’t know why Seungcheol just can’t admit to enjoying things he doesn’t expect to enjoy—like it’ll irreparably damage his ego or something. It’s as if he thinks Chuck Norris or Jason Statham or some other exceedingly manly archetype will appear in person and demand he return his testicles and rescind his Macho Man membership.

Whatever.

At least he likes the tea.

* * *

“I can’t eat your traybakes—I’m on a diet. You _know_ this.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know why he says these things. His response to Jihoon’s presentation of the homemade treats should have been, _‘Wow, those look amazing, I’d really love one.’_ because they do, and he does.

Seungcheol, however, is socially stunted.

“Oh, I know,” Jihoon replies, unfazed as always.

He knows and accepts Seungcheol’s stuntedness by now.

“But I modified the recipe to work with your diet; I used dark chocolate instead of milk, and I used a combination of coconut flour and vanilla whey protein to match the doughy consistency of fudge, so they’re still very low carb. In fact, each square is approximately 2g of net carbs and I think your diet allows you twenty grams of carbs per day. Right?”

Seungcheol nods dumbly, stunned.

The idea that Jihoon went home after a nine-hour work day, researched the fiddly particulars of his Ketogenic diet and then actually baked him some treats he could enjoy with his morning coffee is almost too much. But Seungcheol doesn’t want to dismiss it. He _can’t_. And yet all he manages to do is stare down at the neat rows of traybakes in the box, each one in its own colourful little paper cup and say, “So you made these for _me_?”

Jihoon looks up through his eyelashes at him, and Seungcheol is immediately captivated by the soft blush gracing his cheeks.

“Well, _yeah_. I saw the way you looked at my chocolate brownie yesterday, and I felt bad eating it in front of you—so I thought I could put my baking skills to the test and make you something Keto Friendly. I haven’t tried one myself, but my housemate Seokmin did and he said they were awesome. Of course, it’s _your_ opinion that matters.” He finishes, sheepish. Almost embarrassed.

 _That’s so sweet—_ Seungcheol thinks and would probably say out loud if he was currently capable of doing anything but sit there with his mouth hanging open. Which, _okay_ —probably rude, but seriously—it’s taking a great deal of effort to just hold still while the little peanut is standing so close, practically demanding for a head pat. 

It would be so easy, so damn easy to do it too.

It’s just the two of them in Seungcheol’s office; nobody to witness him losing his fucking mind if he just reached over and petted Jihoon’s head, or pinched his cheek or booped his precious nose.

_Oh god—you should boop him on the nose!_

Seungcheol shakes his head to clear it, then picks one treat up gingerly and without looking away, he takes a bite.

It looks as though it should be a caramel square, but it tastes more like snickers/brownie hybrid: smooth dark chocolate and salty peanut butter, with a cakey texture in the centre that’s more doughy than chewy.

It’s the best thing Seungcheol’s tasted since he started this goddamn diet, and he’s eaten the entire thing before he realises it—embarrassingly aware of how blissful his expression is as he swallows around his mouthful.

He realizes then that Jihoon is watching his face with an odd, expectant sort of look. Waiting for him to say something.

“Is that peanut butter I’m tasting?” He asks, for lack of anything better to say. 

Jihoon looks at him with wide, horrified eyes, then claps a hand over his mouth, “Oh my god. Are you allergic to _peanuts_!?”

“No, no—I—I _love_ peanuts.” Seungcheol stammers, shaking his head on default, “I was just offering commentary on the flavours.”

“Oh, thank god.” Jihoon breathes with a sigh of relief, hand flat against his chest. He seemed genuinely worried there for a moment, and his voice is sincere and laced with honey-infused concern when he adds, “I really should have checked your allergy status before baking you anything, but I was so excited about baking I guess it just slipped my mind. How thoughtless of me!”

Seungcheol can barely summon the words, or even the complete thoughts, to respond to that. But he can feel the silence stretching on too long on his end, and he feels like an unbelievable asshole for being unable to come up with a way to say—‘ _Seriously? You’re the least thoughtless person I know.’_

“Is there anything you _are_ allergic to?” Jihoon asks, plucking another tray-bake out of the box and setting it beside Seungcheol’s coffee cup. Seungcheol must hesitate too long in answering, because Jihoon clarifies, “Just so I know for future reference. I wouldn’t want to send you into anaphylactic shock or anything.”

“Uhm, cat hair?” Seungcheol tells him, loosening his tie.

Jihoon snorts softly on the way back to his desk, “Well—I’ll be sure not to include any cat hair in my next recipe then.”

Seungcheol watches him go and breathes easy for the first time since Jihoon appeared at his side, brandishing treats.

He may not be allergic to nuts, but he might just be a _little_ bit allergic to Jihoon and his intrinsic sweetness. A sweetness that is _almost_ too saccharine to be genuine; it hurts Seungcheol’s teeth, it aches in the clench of his jaw, in that space deep in his throat—it _hurts._

And, yeah— _okay_ , maybe it’s not possible to be allergic to someone’s personality or how fucking precious they are, but, _Jesus Christ_ —something about Jihoon is making him feel funny and warm all over.

* * *

Jihoon’s on the phone with a contact of a contact, trying to book Seungcheol a table at _the most exclusive restaurant_ in town for a business dinner in three hours when there’s a knock on the door. 

“Hello? Anyone here?”

Jihoon’s been on hold with the Maître’D for ten minutes, but he has no choice but to set the phone down to greet who he suspects is the new Vice CEO, scheduled to meet with Seungcheol this morning.

“Yes, come in. Mr Choi’s still in his meeting, but you’re welcome to wait for—” He trails off as he rounds the desk and comes face to face with Jeonghan, who seems just as surprised to see him.

“Hello again Jeonghan, what a pleasant surprise.” Jihoon greets warmly. “You must have done very well in your interview after all. Congratulations.”

Jeonghan takes a step back, bewildered and cocks his head considering. “Jihoon? I—I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Wait. Did you get the job too?” He pauses, his face turning doubtful, then abruptly terrified. “Oh god—is Choi going to make us fight to the death for the position?”

“No, no.” Jihoon giggles, shaking his head. “I didn’t get the job. Well—I didn’t get the job I _interviewed_ for. There was a bit of a mix up you see, and uhm—it’s kind of embarrassing actually.” He offers, in lieu of a real explanation. 

Jeonghan stares at him warily, looking for all the world like he’s ready to bolt out the door.

Obviously he’ll need a little more information before he loses that terrified intensity, so Jihoon takes a deep breath and prepares to share the embarrassing story he’s only shared with one other person.

“I actually came to interview for a personal assistant position they advertised, and somebody had directed me to the wrong place. It was only after I left that I realised I’d sat through the wrong interview, which is the embarrassing part, because I really made an ass of myself unknowingly. But despite all that, Seungcheol was kind enough to offer me a position as his personal assistant and I accepted. So—here I am.”

Jeonghan stares at him for an extra beat, clearly trying to decide if he's serious. Or possibly waiting for the punch line.

It’s a long moment before he speaks.

“So—you really _are_ just fresh out of college?” He asks, leaning forward earnestly.

“Yep.” Jihoon says, his nose turning pink even as he smiles.

Jeonghan begins to laugh, snorting so hard he has to bury his face in his sleeve.

“Sorry, sorry—I shouldn’t laugh.” He says, smiling at him lopsidedly. Strangely. “But that’s not a story you hear every day.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jihoon murmurs, fiddling with his lanyard, “But please don’t share it with too many people. I’m still trying to live down the humiliation of interviewing for a Vice CEO position with my Barista experience in Starbucks.”

Jeonghan's laughter is a more subdued this time round, as he leans his hip against Jihoon’s desk, hands in his pockets. “Humiliating or not—you _still_ landed a job out of the whole experience. Which means you must have made _quite_ the impression for Choi to make you his PA.”

Jihoon purses his lips and narrows his eyes a little, “I _guess_ —but I can’t see how though.”

The smile Jeonghan turns on him then might be a little too humouring.

“I can think of a few reasons. In fact—” He clicks his fingers, looking at Jihoon with something close to awe on his face, “I think _you’re_ the reason I got my job too.”

“I am?” Jihoon blinks at him. “ _How_?”

Jeonghan looks abruptly sheepish.

“Well—” He begins, drumming his fingers on the desk. “If I’m being _completely_ honest, I didn’t think my interview with Choi went that well. I was so nervous I ended up talking out of my ass the entire time, and I was sure Choi would pull me up on it—but he didn’t. Now when I think about it, I realise he was kind of distracted; he hardly asked me any questions, and I _know_ it wasn’t my CV he was looking through either. The whole time I was there he had this big goofy smile on his face and I figured it was just some weird intimidation tactic he was employing to test me. _Now_ I realise it’s because my interview was right after yours, and _you_ left him in such a good mood he wasn’t paying attention to me at all. That’s why I got the job when nobody else could pass muster.”

It’s a very strange sort of proclamation, and yet Jeonghan says it with such casual conviction that Jihoon can’t even be amused by it

“Don’t be silly.” Jihoon snorts. “You got the job because you have the necessary experience and can make a valuable contribution to the company. I had nothing to do with it.” Tugging at the hem of his sweater vest nervously, he adds, “Besides, I’m probably the _last_ person who can improve Seungcheol’s mood. And believe you me I've tried. Am _still_ trying. Seungcheol's a really hard nut to crack.”

Jeonghan holds Jihoon’s eyes thoughtfully for a moment, before redirecting his gaze to the corner of Jihoon’s desk.

“Who got you those?” He asks with a meaningful tilt of his head.

“Huh?” Jihoon pivots, following Jeonghan’s gaze to the vase of flowers still sitting, beautiful and vibrant on the edge of his desk. “Oh, the flowers? Seungcheol bought them for me last week. Aren’t they pretty?”

Jeonghan gives an incredulous little laugh.

“You’re telling me that Choi Seungcheol bought you flowers in your first week of work?” He says, in a pointed sort of way that Jihoon thinks he's supposed to understand.

Jihoon doesn’t see why that should matter. 

“Uhm, well—it was actually on my first _day_ of work. But that’s because he yelled at the window cleaner and it made me sad.”

Jeonghan’s watching him with unmasked amusement now. He manages to sound both disbelieving and dry when he says, “You do realise you’ve just proven my point, don’t you.”

Jihoon gapes like a fish. “What point?”

* * *

There’s a shifty looking guy loitering outside the canteen when Jihoon heads to lunch on Wednesday.

Under normal circumstances, Jihoon would give shifty looking guys a wide berth, or call the police if they try and follow him home. _Again._ But this guy’s wearing a pretty flashy suit, and he wouldn’t have gotten this far into the building without _some_ sort of access card, so Jihoon suspects he must work here too and the shiftiness is just an unfortunate side-effect of his parentage.

Regardless, Jihoon aims to give him a wide berth anyway, and would have succeeded had the man not spotted him and called out, “Psst. Hey kid! Yeah, you—you with the sweater vest.”

Jihoon stops just outside the door to the canteen and turns to frown at him.

“I’m not a kid. I’m a grown ass man.”

Shifty levels him a flat look, the jerks his head, “Alright then, _ass man_ , come here for a sec.” He says, bone dry and possibly sarcastic.

Jihoon hesitates, glancing between the canteen door and the Shifty man beckoning him closer. He _could_ just slip inside and pretend he hadn’t heard him, but that would be rude and Jihoon is _never_ rude. Unless provoked.

Besides, Jihoon has a precious few personal acquaintances and he likes making new friends—shifty or not.

So, tucking his lunchbox under his arm, he steps closer. “What—what do you want?”

Sensing weakness, Shifty crowds in closer. “You lookin to buy? I can cut ya a good deal.” He says, and smiles with white teeth and sharkish intent.

Jihoon gasps, outraged.

“Oh my god, are you selling _drugs_? At work?”

“Shh—lower your voice.” The man hisses, flailing a hand to silence him. Sparing a glance up and down the corridor, he straightens out his suit and levels Jihoon a look of bored superiority. “And no, for your information I am _not_ selling drugs. I am in fact selling some very high-quality staples.”

Jihoon blinks at him—because he’s not sure he heard that right.

“I’m sorry, did you say _staples_?”

“That’s right, _Staples!_ ” Shifty says brightly, then he draws his blazer open to reveal numerous boxes of staples stuffed into each inner pocket. “The finest, highest quality staples imaginable in the stationary industry. Can I interest you in any?”

Jihoon opens his mouth to decline, then reconsiders. “Actually—I could do with a box. I _am_ running low at the moment.”

Shifty makes a face at him. “Just a box?”

Jihoon just shrugs, “Well—yeah. I only have _one_ stapler, and I only staple things when I’m absolutely sure I won’t have to unstaple them again, because removing staples is very bothersome and I’d rather just use a paperclip on that occasion. Paperclips are less permanent. Which reminds me—I’m running low on paperclips too. Do you have any?”

Shifty fixes him with a look that is normally followed by the words _What the fuck?_

“No—just staples.”

“Then I’ll just have one box of staples please.” Jihoon says cheerfully. 

Shifty must think Jihoon’s trying to drive a hard bargain, or is playing hard to get, _or_ is a lot more business savvy than people give him credit for, because _then_ he suggests, “How about I put you down for 10,000 boxes?”

Jihoon pretends to consider the offer—affects his most thoughtful expression, then admits, “I don’t think I have room in my desk drawer for 10,000 boxes of staples. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

Shifty doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest by the logistics of his offer. “Well you can just pile all the boxes together and use them like a chair—that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Jihoon doesn’t feel very enthused about the idea of the staple _throne_ Shifty is suggesting. For one, it wouldn’t be very comfortable, and two, he doubts Seungcheol would approve of the new addition to his office space. If anything he'd probably be jealous, and demand a staple throne for himself. 

“I’m going to have to say no on this occasion. But—great sales pitch.”

Shifty laughs softly, and crosses his arms, “Look—tell you what. I’ll do you an even better deal. You take these 10,000 boxes off me today, and I’ll give you 20,000 extra boxes free. Just tell me your name and what department you’re in and I’ll get them sent straight to your office.”

Jihoon squints at him, comprehension dawning, “ _You_ must be Wen Junhui.”

The man gives a helpless shrug and a wild grin, and says, “I see my reputation proceeds me. What have you heard?” His chest seems to puff out a bit. “If it’s about my sexual prowess—it’s all true.”

Jihoon manfully restrains himself from snorting.

“None of it was exactly _flattering_ if I’m being honest. I’m friends with _Seungkwan_ ….” He trails off pointedly.

Junhui’s grins slides right of his face at that piece of information. “He who shall not be named.” He hisses.

Jihoon’s answering eyeroll is _epic_.

“Listen Junhui, If you’re struggling to shift the staples, why don’t you just _apologise_ to Seungkwan and ask for his help. He’s the office supply manager, I’m sure he has connections that will help take those staples off your hands.”

Both of Junhui’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Me? Apologise? To Boo Seungkwan?” He snorts, an incredulous sound, and shakes his head. “Over my dead sexy body!”

Jihoon frowns, then walks past him towards the canteen door, “Have fun with your staple surplus I guess.”

He gets no further than five feet, before Junhui’s grabbing him by the elbow, dragging him around the corner and into a deserted office space. He even shuts the door and locks it behind him, which has Jihoon wondering if he should be fearing for his life—trapped in a room with a staple wielding maniac—but when Junhui turns to face him, there’s an appropriately sheepish expression on his face.

“You think apologising would work?”

“It couldn’t hurt.” Jihoon offers, regathering his composure. “Sometimes all people _need_ is a genuine apology, and I’m pretty sure Seungkwan’s the same. But—you know what _else_ couldn’t hurt?”

Junhui leans in expectantly, “What?”

“Cupcakes. Homemade ones. With lots of buttercream frosting.” Jihoon offers gleefully.

Junhui draws a sharp breath in through his teeth. “I’m not much of a baker.”

Jihoon purses his lips for a moment in hesitation, then shrugs, “I _guess_ some store-bought ones would be okay too. But maybe you should throw in a personalised card to sweeten the deal. Something quirky, with a cute message or a pun, like—'I hope we can put this all behind us and have a _staple_ relationship’—Huh?”

“Okay, good—good. This is all gold content so far.” Junhui says, and he really seems to be taking Jihoon’s advice on board, seeing as he’s writing everything down on a little notebook that appeared from out of nowhere. “What else should I do?”

“That’s all I got for you.” Jihoon huffs. “I’m a PA, not a relationship counsellor.”

“I guess that should be enough to butter Seungkwan up,” Junhui concedes. He rips the page out of the notebook and folds it into his top jacket pocket, then tilts his head to the side in a gesture that looks almost playful. “PA huh? Mind me asking _who’s_?”

“Oh, Mr Choi’s.”

Junhui's face falls, awkward and instantaneous. “Oh— _damn_. That’s—that’s rough man, I’m sorry for your loss.”

For a moment, Jihoon can’t figure out what to say to that, because if he’s not mistaken, there’s honest to god _pity_ pooling in Junhui’s eyes. And then, at last, he manages to come up with, “What do you mean by _that_?”

Junhui tsks knowingly and looks around, “Just, ya _know_ —working for the top guy can’t be easy. I doubt anybody envies your position.”

Probably a fair assumption to make—Jihoon thinks. If _he_ were on the outside, looking in, he would have come to the same conclusion. But he can't exactly let something like that pass without comment; he’s not going to succeed in making Seungcheol more _personable_ if everyone thinks he’s a tyrant.

“ _You_ work for him. This whole _building_ works for him.” He feels the need to point out.

One eyebrow raising a bit, Junhui shrugs. “Yeah, but—you work directly _under_ him. Can’t imagine anyone enjoying that regardless of how good the pay is.”

Jihoon is tempted to say that he very much likes the prospect of working _directly under_ Seungcheol. Would jump at the chance to work directly under him in more ways than one—if you get his drift. Except he _probably_ shouldn’t share that thought out loud with random colleagues who try and sell him staples in the hallway.

“I enjoy it just fine,” He argues—trying not to sound defensive. “I like the challenge, and despite what people might say about him, what you’re clearly saying too, he’s actually a really decent guy.”

Junhui laughs outrageously, like Jihoon’s cracked the best joke ever. “Yeah, _right_. Anyway, thanks for your help Sweater-vest. I got me some cupcakes to buy.” He says, ruffling Jihoon’s hair on the way out.

Jihoon pouts into the empty room.

“My name’s Jihoon.” He murmurs to himself.

* * *

Jihoon’s just sat down for his lunch when a shadow falls over his lap, and he looks up to see Jeonghan standing at the foot of his table.

“Would it cramp your style if I joined you?” He smirks, gesturing at the empty seat at the empty table. 

“No, please.” Jihoon smiles eagerly at him, because a: He’s been repeatedly told he has no sense of style whatsoever, and b: he usually has lunch with Seungkwan, but Seungkwan’s off on some office supply manager ‘emergency’ and it’s always nice to have someone to talk to.

Jeonghan takes a seat, setting down a plate of limp cafeteria fries on the table between them.

They don’t look appetizing, not in the slightest, so after a moment’s hesitation, Jihoon offers him half of his sandwich.

“Do you like BLT? I made it myself.”

“Sure—” Jeonghan grins, then makes a half-aborted grab for the sandwich, “You don’t mind me stealing half your lunch?”

“Not at all.” Jihoon chirps, pushing the sandwich towards Jeonghan’s side of the table more insistently. “And it’s hardly _half_. I’ve brought lots of food.” He adds, gesturing to his multiple Tupperware containers.

Jeonghan observes the Tupperware boxes with wide eyes, then smiles, accepting the sandwich readily. He pushes his plate of crappy fries towards Jihoon in exchange, and Jihoon takes one to be polite.

“I’m surprised you’re down here slumming it with the rest of us.” Jihoon says, dipping his fry in the little puddle of ketchup. “There’s an executive lounge on the 35th floor you know, that’s where most of the managers have their lunch.”

Jeonghan finishes his first bite before answering. “Well, it’s my first week here, and I like to get a lay of the land and meet the colleagues. People are generally more relaxed during lunchtime, and not so opposed to conversing with the Vice CEO, so it’s a good opportunity to introduce myself.” He gives a shrug and a warm half smile. “Besides, it’s not really my scene up there. I had my lunch with the executives yesterday, and I’m sad to say they’re a pretty dull bunch.”

Jihoon pauses with the fry half-way to his mouth, “Really? Even Jisoo?”

Jeonghan chuckles a little at that. “Especially Jisoo. He’s _King_ of the Dullards—” A pause, a sheepish downward cast of his gaze, and he adds _, “_ But don’t tell him I said that.”

Jihoon smiles his patented _‘your secret is safe with me’_ smile, and pops the fry into his mouth.

At Jeonghan’s insistence he helps himself to a few more fries, before returning to his sandwich.

“I guess that’s why Seungcheol has his lunch in his office all the time. Maybe he finds those guys boring too.” He says, chewing thoughtfully.

“It certainly would be more interesting with him around.” Jeonghan answers around his own mouthful. “But I’m hardly surprised Choi won’t condescend to eat with who he probably considers to be the _little people.”_

“Hey—” Jihoon frowns. “He’s not like that.” he says, not for the first time.

Jeonghan is clearly surprised by his response, but then he smiles, soft and a little bit distant. “You think very highly of him, don’t you?”

It has too much confidence to be a question, and Jihoon feels his face turning hot, his whole head really, even the tips of his ears. But not offering some kind of response is hardly going to do Seungcheol _or_ himself any favours.

“ _Highly_ might be a bit of a stretch, but yeah, I don’t think he’s as awful to work for as everyone makes him out to be. He has a sweet side too, but I guess not many people work close enough with him to notice it.”

“Fair enough.” Jeonghan nods. But there's still a mutinous gleam in his eyes when he continues, “But I’m sure if you had a chance to change one thing about him, you’d have a _list_.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond immediately, because he’s genuinely flabbergasted Jeonghan knows about his specially curated list, aptly titled: _How to make Seungcheol less of a crabby pants_.

Then he remembers said list is in the back of the diary he keeps tucked under his pillow at home, and there’s no way Jeonghan knows about. He must just be guessing Jihoon’s organised enough to keep one.

“I do _not_ have a list,” Jihoon lies. After a moment of reflection and another bite of his sandwich he adds, “But if I _had_ to pick one thing to change—I _guess_ it would be for him to take me more seriously.”

A quizzical expression clouds Jeonghan's face and creases his forehead. “What makes you say he _doesn’t_?”

“Oh, just about every interaction we have.” Jihoon says with a self-depreciating smile. “I mean, I _could_ be misinterpreting it, but the way he looks at me sometimes, and the way he talks to me, it seems different to how he interacts with everyone else. I thought I was making progress this week, but then he booped me just before lunch.”

Jeonghan practically chokes on his mouthful of sandwich, “I’m sorry—he _what_?”

“He booped me.” Jihoon repeats. When Jeonghan just _stares_ at him, he expands, “You know, on the _nose_.”

Jeonghan’s expression crinkles more deeply. “I’m afraid I’m gonna need some context here Jihoon.”

Jihoon sighs and sets his own sandwich down to explain.

“Well, when he came back from his midday meeting, I told him I was going for my lunch and he was like— _‘Okay, eat well.’—_ and then he booped me on the nose and walked off.” He explains, imitating the way Seungcheol booped him for Jeonghan’s benefit.

Jeonghan's face smoothes with understanding, but he doesn't speak. It's another moment before comprehension brightens his eyes and then—he bursts out laughing. He’s out and out laughing too, smacking the table and wheezing, loud enough that people have stopped eating to _stare_ at their table.

Jihoon blinks in confusion and tries to retrace his words to source what was so funny—but nothing registers. Nothing that justifies the way Jeonghan’s cackling right now anyway. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh too—so that it will look like he’s in on the joke and not the butt of it for a change, but by the time he’s made up his mind, Jeonghan’s laughter quiets into an amused chuckle.

“Honestly, I can’t say I blame him. You are very—” Jeonghan makes an indecipherable gesture that encompasses Jihoon’s face, his multiple Tupperware boxes, and the Gudetama napkin he has tucked into his shirt—" _Boopable_.”

“I am?” Jihoon says warily.

Jeonghan nods slowly, like it’s a forgone conclusion.

“Oh yes, very boopable. In fact, I’m resisting the urge to boop you on the nose myself. Your nose _demands_ to be booped.”

Jihoon doesn't even pretend to be unaffected by that. He can feel his cheeks heat, and he brings up a hand to cover his nose in case anyone tries to boop it while he’s having his lunch. He almost wishes he didn’t know how boopable he was, because how can he live his life normally knowing that at any moment, someone is thinking about booping him.

Oh no.

“But I don’t want to be boopable.” Jihoon murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief. “I wanted to earn Seungcheol’s respect.”

Jeonghan’s lips quirk a little. “You’ve earned his affection, that might just be more powerful than earning his respect.”

Jihoon's lips press into a thin line, nonplussed and sceptical. “Can’t I have both?”

Jeonghan spreads his hands and shrugs. “Probably. In time. But booping is great for now—I doubt Choi Seungcheol boops many people, so you should be flattered with the booping. You could even include it in your CV somewhere; special achievements—was booped by Choi Seungcheol. How many people can say that? Nobody probably.”

For some reason that makes Jihoon blush a little more, and he glances at the ceiling and hides his face behind his half-eaten sandwich.

“Should I boop him _back_?”

“Absolutely not!” Jeonghan says, sounding like he’s choking again. “But—I mean, if you decide to go _against_ my advice, please make sure I’m in the room when you do it. I’d love to see that happen.”

* * *

When Jihoon returns from his lunch, the blinds have been drawn and the office lights are dimmed, and he has a moment to wonder where Seungcheol’s disappeared too. But as he rounds his desk to store away his lunch box, he finds Seungcheol’s still there, hunkered down behind his desk while he roots through one of the drawers.

The surface of the desk is a mess, strewn with papers and years of accumulated desk junk, and the outrageously overpriced turkey sandwich and Mandarin orange salad Seungcheol ordered for lunch are in the centre, completely untouched.

“You didn’t eat your lunch?” Jihoon asks, moving closer.

“Couldn’t stomach it. Migraine.” Seungcheol replies at length.

Which would explain the darkened office and Seungcheol’s look of grim displeasure. Jihoon’s never seen this look on Seungcheol's face before, but he’s intimately familiar with the buzzkill of a migraine attack, and he'd do anything to banish it now.

“Oh, migraines suck. You should take something for it.”

“What do you think I’m _trying_ to do?” Seungcheol snaps, with a quiet ferocity that catches Jihoon off guard. 

He blinks in surprise, confused and not entirely sure what to make of the murderous little dent between Seungcheol’s eyebrows, the tightening of the muscles in his jaw. He was only trying to be helpful—is only _ever_ trying to be helpful and yet Seungcheol’s clearly visibly exasperated, wound so tight that Jihoon can almost imagine him uncoiling like a spring and shooting him into the air. 

His sour mood only seems to get worse the longer he rifles through his drawers and comes up with nothing but a packet of breath mints and a stick of gum for his efforts.

“Argh! I know there’s some aspirin in here somewhere.” He growls, slamming the drawer shut with more force than is warranted.

There is a small part of Jihoon’s mind that begs him not to speak, because this is probably one of those times he should zip it and just leave Seungcheol alone—the look on Seungcheol’s face definitely says as much.

But the words come pouring out anyway.

“Probably for the best. I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be taking aspirin on an empty stomach anyway.”

Seungcheol gives him a dry look as he yanks open a second drawer, upending the entirety of it’s contents on the floor.

“You know what Jihoon, I think I’m capable of making my own medication decisions. I’m a big boy.”

It’s on the tip of Jihoon’s tongue to snap back with— _'Then act like one’_ —but the whole _‘silence is golden’_ thing is kind of poking him in the eye now.

Instead, he returns to his own desk and starts rummaging through his satchel for the little emergency first-aid kit he keeps tucked in the bottom. Finding it, he sets it out on his desk, then searches through it for his blister pack of Co-Codamol.

“I have some pain-killers you can have.” He offers charitably, returning to Seungcheol with two tablets already popped out in his palm, “I get migraines too and they work a treat for me. They might make you a little drowsy, but they’ll work better than—”

“Alright, alright—just give it here.” Seungcheol agrees sharply, cutting him short.

He takes the proffered tablets and swallows them _dry_ , even though Jihoon’s already fetching him a bottle of water. The stubborn idiot.

“You can’t make it easy on yourself, can you.” Jihoon observes, mostly under his breath and mostly to himself. But Seungcheol must catch the comment anyway, because he levels Jihoon a scathing look that seems to say _‘Don’t try me.’_

A tiny voice of doubt in the back of Jihoon's head nags at him, suggests that maybe he's not cut out for this after all. Maybe it will take more than relentless enthusiasm and a hereditary cheeriness to crack a stubborn nut like Seungcheol. Then he glances back over his shoulder to his desk, and catches sight of the bouquet of flowers Seungcheol bought him in apology, and as easily as that, the nagging voice disappears. 

Jihoon realises then that Seungcheol’s just like that cat he talked down from the tree—he’s going to yowl and hiss and scratch the hell out of anyone who tries to help him—but ultimately he just wants someone to calm him down, scratch him behind the ears and give him a bowl of milk.

And granted yes, that analogy has gone to a weird place, but it's still technically sound.

Jihoon blinks away the image of Seungcheol as a giant cat, bringing dead birds to his doorstep as a peace offering and returns to his desk. The first-aid kit is sitting open where he left it, and he starts packing it away again neatly, until he comes across the Hello Kitty Cold-Pack he keeps handy for minor bumps and bruises. It’s ridiculously pink—as most Hello Kitty merchandise is—but it’s the smallest one he could find to fit into his kit, and it really is very soothing, especially when he has a….. _migraine_.

 _Huh_.

The decision hits Jihoon almost like an afterthought, and he feels a mischievous smile spread across his face. So, breaking the Cold-pack out of its plastic wrapping, he squeezes it to activate the cooling reaction and returns to Seungcheol’s side.

Seungcheol’s sprawled inelegantly in his seat, eyes closed and brows pinched, and he jerks up in surprise at the cooling touch of the pack on his forehead.

“Woah—what is _that_?”

The lack of comprehension on Seungcheol's face makes Jihoon smile despite himself.

“A cool pack. For your migraine.”

Now understanding settles across Seungcheol's face, and his brow crinkles in an expression that leaves Jihoon stifling a laugh. Jihoon gives it a moment. He's curious how Seungcheol will respond, but Seungcheol just sits there staring at the Hello Kitty Cool pack like he can't quite process what he’s seeing.

“It’s pink. It—it has a _bow_.”

Jihoon’s happy to note that despite the migraine, Seungcheol’s powers of observation haven’t failed him yet.

“Yes, I _know_ —I think it will really compliment your designer suit.” He says wryly.

A smile flickers over Seungcheol’s face, there and gone in a heartbeat. “There is no _way_ I’m putting that on.” He tells Jihoon, with that high-and-mighty air that he must have learned as a pre-requisite to becoming a CEO or something.

“Aww, don’t be like that,” Jihoon shifts to stand a little closer—a little closer than he should, really, “It’ll help ease the tension on your forehead.”

“I don’t _have_ tension on my forehead.” Seungcheol grunts—which is a blatant _lie_ , seeing as he’s currently frowning for Korea. Even as he leans back in his seat again, Jihoon can see the tension in his posture—how his fingers wrap over the edge of the armrest, how his shoulders are tight and bunched.

“Are you sure? You seem…. _tense_. And you’re frowning a lot.” Jihoon says finally, biting down on the inside of his lower lip.

Seungcheol huffs something offended, “This is my default expression.”

Jihoon feels the muscles in his cheek shift, betraying his smile, “Well it shouldn’t be. Frowning certainly won’t help your migraine, and you don’t want to get premature frown lines and ruin that eternally youthful look you’ve got going for you.” He says, half in jest, half deadly serious. 

It’s obvious Seungcheol is _now_ making a conceited effort to smooth his frown lines—vain man that he is—but he still recoils when Jihoon tries to put the cool pack on his forehead once again.

“I can’t put a Hello Kitty Cool pack on my forehead.” Seungcheol says, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I’m a serious businessman. Serious businessmen don’t endorse Hello Kitty products. It's an aberration of nature.”

Jihoon would never do anything so unprofessional as stick his tongue out at his boss, but it’s a near hit. “I think serious businessmen should get over their _insecurities_ , because this cool pack is nice and cold and will feel really, really good.”

“Guess I’ll never find out.” Seungcheol says, folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes.

Jihoon pouts—then slaps the cool pack down on Seungcheol’s forehead anyway, surprising himself—apparently surprising Seungcheol, too, as he blinks wide eyes at him for a wordless moment. Then his eyes narrow dangerously.

Jihoon’s pretty sure this is the moment he’ll be unceremoniously fired. Maybe right out of the office window. Except Seungcheol’s angry brow smoothes a moment later, and then his shoulders droop.

“That—that _does_ feel good.” He whispers, giving Jihoon a comically serious look.

Jihoon’s not petty enough for an _‘I told you so’_ —even though it would be completely warranted under the circumstances—but he _does_ take courage in his little victory to move closer to where Seungcheol’s sprawled in his seat and deftly loosens the knot of Seungcheol’s tie.

When that’s not met with any immediate objections, he pops the first two buttons of Seungcheol’s shirt too, just, you know—to make him more _comfortable_. 

When he steps back, he finds Seungcheol’s watching him— _staring at_ him from under the cool pack. His mouth is twisted in a smile—not mocking, but something softer. Real. 

“You’re a regular little boy scout huh? With your ice packs, and your plasters and your ten different varieties of _tea_.” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon is ready to take offense, but the expression in Seungcheol's eyes was warm and teasing and affectionate. And oh. Just...oh.

“Twenty actually.” Jihoon murmurs, dropping his gaze to the floor as he shifts from foot to foot. “They had a sale on in ‘Tea-Cup House’ so I stocked up on their new caramel creations collection. But I don’t think that qualifies me to be a boy scout though, because Boy scouts aren’t really tea aficionados, but I _do_ respect the principles they adhere too; friendship, loyalty, thriftiness, being helpful and—”

“Such a boy scout.” Seungcheol interjects with a slur. 

Jihoon lifts his head to look at him, then blinks in surprise.

Seungcheol is pretty drowsy and dopey looking right now, almost half asleep. Which suggests the drugs must be kicking in, and damn hard too because Jihoon’s pretty sure Seungcheol’s _never_ smiled at him like _that_ —like he’s a rare baby Panda.

A rare baby Panda In a sweater vest.

“Seungcheol?” Jihoon leans in to whisper carefully. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Huh?” Seungcheol pauses to blink at him, s _lowly_. His disorientation seems to clear a little, and he makes a noise of discovery, “Wow that stuff you gave me is _strong_. I feel really…really _sleepy_.”

Jihoon has to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Sleepy Seungcheol is too cute for _words_.

“Maybe you should have a little nap.” He suggests gently.

Sleepy Seungcheol stares at him, _sleepily_. “Here?”

Jihoon nods, lifting a hand to smooth back Seungcheol’s hair where it’s silky and curling, free of product. “That chair looks super comfy. You could just lay back and nap for a while and I’m sure you’ll feel better when you wake up. Nobody has to know you had a nap at your desk in the middle of the day.”

Seungcheol flails upright, arms and legs flying, like a cat falling off a windowsill.

“No, I can’t. I’m the boss. I’m in charge!” He might overdo the righteousness on that, because his eyelids droop a little heavier after and he slumps back into his seat with a quiet ‘ _oomf’_. “I have to…Just gimme a sec. I just..I just need a second and then I can…”

It’s a spectator sport: watching Seungcheol try and fight off slumber. His eyes grow slowly unfocused, the cool pack starts to slide off his head before he catches himself and jerks awake, maybe a few times before he finally succumbs, head falling slowly back against the seat.

It’s only then does Jihoon allow himself to move, to scoop down and start tidying the mess Seungcheol’s made of his desk and the space around it.

Quietly of course, so he doesn’t inadvertently wake the giant baby up. Who _snores_ , by the way—which is both hilarious and preposterously cute Jihoon is giggling quietly to himself as he straightens the last of the papers on Seungcheol’s desk. 

With everything squared away again, he moves to retreat to his own desk, only for sight of Seungcheol sleeping to root him in place. He’s struck by how young and surreal Seungcheol looks sleeping; with his features lax and his lips barely parted, the fierce intensity is gone from his face, and he looks almost at peace. 

Now that he's seeing it for the first time, Jihoon can't figure out how to look away.

* * *

When Seungcheol blinks into wakefulness, the office is darker than he remembers it being, and the glass reflects the room clearly back on itself. He takes a moment to let his gaze adjust, then sits up, cool pack dropping into his lap as he straightens up to observe his surroundings.

Not only have the blinds been drawn completely, the lights have been switched off, and Seungcheol’s unsurprised to find Jihoon’s still here, working away in his corner of the darkened room with only a single lamp to illuminate his desk.

Jihoon looks up from his work as Seungcheol makes some small noise, clearing his throat maybe, and a brilliant smile overtakes his face, the easy lovely friendly expression that Seungcheol knows Jihoon gives everyone, but somehow always seems personal at the moment it’s being displayed.

“Hey sleepy head—enjoy your nap?”

“What?!” Seungcheol blinks, thrown. He glances at his wrist to check the time, only to find his watch is missing, “Shit! How long have I been out for?”

He hears Jihoon giggle quietly, “Not long. Just forty minutes or so. You slept like a baby though.”

“Forty minutes!” Seungcheol echoes, incredulous. He curses himself colourfully and creatively as he stumbles out of his seat and makes a beeline for the bathroom to splash water on his face.

It’s only after he re-emerges, patting his face dry with a towel, that he realises his desk is a tidy, clutter free zone once more.

Which is definitely _not_ the way he had left it.

Seungcheol remembers clearly tipping out entire drawers in his search for aspirin, leaving a veritable mess of papers and stationery everywhere. A mess which Jihoon took upon himself to tidy up, while he _slept_.

The gesture strikes him somehow, makes his hand curl tight around the towel until he forces himself to set it down. And of course instead of being eternally grateful for the fact, Seungcheol—social butterfly that he is not— _complains_.

“You should have woke me up Jihoon. No, scratch that—you shouldn't have let me sleep in the _first_ place.”

“But you _needed_ it. You were super grumpy.” Jihoon protests, moving at last to draw up the blinds.

Seungcheol wants to be mad at him, but Jihoon's eyes are crinkling up at the corners, and his eyelashes are catching the light from above, and honestly, he's so fucking sweet it makes Seungcheol crazy sometimes.

No, no— _all_ the time.

“It doesn’t matter if I needed it. I have a meeting at—” Seungcheol attempts to check the time on his missing watch, again—“Where is my fucking watch!”

“Here. It’s in your jacket pocket—where you _left_ it.” Jihoon answers calmly, bringing him both his jacket and his watch.

Seungcheol takes the watch first, slipping it over his wrist and clipping it shut before allowing Jihoon to help him with his jacket.

“And—don’t worry, you still have twenty minutes till your meeting starts. I was keeping my eye on the clock.” Jihoon says, pulling the jacket taut over his shoulders.

Seungcheol stares at him dubiously for a moment, eyes snapping to his watch, and then back to Jihoon. “So I do.”

Jihoon dimples at him, then gestures towards his desk where a stack of papers and a cup of freshly brewed coffee await. 

“All your papers are right here, ready to go when you’re ready. And I made you some coffee to wake you up.”

“Thanks,” Seungcheol says off-handedly, and reaches for the documents. He flips through the pages, rapid-fire and determines everything he needs is in order before he reaches for the cup and takes a long, sobering sip.

The combination of the painkillers and the cool-pack have, unexpectedly enough, helped erase his migraine and calmed his mind. The coffee sharpens his senses. Soon Seungcheol isn’t feeling nearly as crappy as before, and he feels considerably less stressed than he has in days, perhaps weeks. Except when he glances down at himself, he realises he looks a dishevelled mess, curtesy of his unexpected midday nap.

“Jesus, I look like shit.” he says, taking a moment to set his mug down on the desktop and prodding clumsily at the buttons of his shirt.

He barely starts putting himself together before Jihoon’s taking over with a quiet, “Here, let me.”

It's not like Seungcheol to be sentimental, but here is Jihoon, helping straighten his tie and smooth out the collar of his shirt with a look of adorable concentration. He’s even standing on his tip-toes to smooth back Seungcheol’s fringe and Seungcheol can’t help feeling a wash of hopeless affection for his fussiness. 

He’s pretty sure he shouldn't enjoy it as much as he does, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s done this for him and even longer since they’ve done it with such unwashed admiration writ clear on their face.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve that look from Jihoon, but it can’t be anything he’s done in the last few hours; he’s an insufferable jerk at the best of times, and Migraines just ramp that side of him up, so there’s really no reason for Jihoon to be doting on him now, and so sweetly too.

Unless….

Unless he gave Jihoon a bonus while he was sleeping?

It’s possible.

“There. All better.” Jihoon murmurs, pulling on the edges of his collar, then smoothing his hands down the front of Seungcheol’s shirt.

His hands still then, lingering over Seungcheol’s chest, and Seungcheol is drawn to the way his ears turn pink, the way he licks his lips, the way he conspicuously _doesn’t_ look up at Seungcheol.

Until he _does_ and suddenly his gaze full and steady and—

Seungcheol becomes aware of how quick his breath has gotten more from hearing himself than actually feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He feels a jolt down his spine and through his limbs until it manifests as a tingling in his fingers and toes.

It’s anticipation, he realizes, pulling between them like a rubber band ready to snap.

Oh— _crap_.

He tries to think of some topic of conversation, some pertinent and pressing work-related item of discussion to use as a distraction—but he can’t. He’s too busy watching Jihoon’s face; his light blue eyes and his pretty pink lips, and then Jihoon’s hands, as they trail back up his chest, towards his face and then—

Any cohesive thought Seungcheol might have been on the verge of forming just dissipates altogether when Jihoon raises one hand, brings it up to Seungcheol’s face and touches the tip of his finger to Seungcheol’s nose with a quiet “ _Boop_.”

When Jihoon pulls back, he looks both shy and earnest, and some of the tightness in Seungcheol's chest loosens as a honeyed heat spreads through every part of his body.

Which is about the time that he decides leaving is the absolute best idea ever.

“I need to go. I’m going to be late.” Seungcheol says quietly, stepping away.

It's a miracle he doesn't stammer, or fall over his own tongue. Especially when all he can think right now is: _Oh, shit. It’s not platonic._

_It’s not platonic at all!_


End file.
